


Poison

by JayJ



Series: Golden Moments in the Stream of Life [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:38:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayJ/pseuds/JayJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is as suffocating to him as the poison in his veins. It bothers him, having her so close, because he doesn't mind it at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

> With this story...the series is caught up with what I've already posted on ff.net.
> 
> This story was a fun challenge cause I was going for messed up, deep, and not all there randomness. The last few episode have really highlighted, for me at least, how off his rocker Gold/Rumple is and I wanted to tap in to that. I also added the extra dose of poison induced delirium to the mix-because tricky minds and hallucinations are always a good time. It was a lot of fun to write and I tried not to go in to a crazy dark place with this one but I think there are some darkish cracks that slipped through.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Minor spoilers for 2x15

They're having a moment.

He's dying, and still, they're having one of their moments.

It's how these things go with them; complicated and too layered in meaning for ether of them to fully decipher or comprehend. Yet it's there. And they are always victims to it. It's repetitive, yet unavoidable.

He's struggling with it.

Emma is sitting beside him. Gold finds it difficult to breath. She is as suffocating to him as the poison in his veins. It bothers him, having her so close, because he doesn't mind it at all.

He shouldn't, but he does. It's an endless cycle sort of thing. He's not really making any sense.

Gold blinks twice. Than blinks a third time.

He can't think straight. Hook's deadly toxin is having the strangest effect on him. And Emma is still too close—that's not helping ether.

Shoulders are touching and she's invaded his personal space too easily and too brazenly. As if she belongs there. It's a comfort that shouldn't be there. Not from Emma, at least. Because it means she's slipped in and made herself at ease, at home, in a place she didn't, nor shouldn't, fit in to.

He blinks again. Keeps his eyes closed this time. Breathing is becoming a problem.

Gold wonders if Emma is a poison—to him—for she is consuming and ravaging him from within. Making his blood curl and his mind crumble and blur just as effectively as the one that is literally and currently flowing inside of him.

He shouldn't be surprised. His want of her had never been pure and gentle. Or even kind. It was jolting and painful—he always knew it would hurt. Gold had wanted her anyways. And now look at him.

He's projecting. He does that often.

'She's pretty,' Gold thinks in his haze, 'she's pretty and she glows.'

He wants to touch her—intimately, meaningfully, in a way that matters—but he can't, he knows he mustn't, and that makes him want it even more.

But there are too many sons in the room. It makes things bright and real and heated. And it's made these urges and desires too complicated and strictly forbidden.

Yet Gold recalls that there was a time, brief and familiar, where it wasn't and they had both been swayed by it and had indulged themselves.

It had been good.

Gold remembers, and can almost feel, the ghost of Emma's kiss against his lips. Remembers how he had tilted back his head, and how she had leaned into him and over him. And Gold had slipped his hand behind her neck and forced her close. He didn't let her go. Not then, at least.

He never thought he would.

But he did. He let go. It shouldn't have been that easy.

Gold's breathe catches at the memory. It tightens his insides. Maybe that's the poison. He can't be too sure anymore. He tries to focus but his mind continues to ponder and soon it wonders away from him.

Can one miss something they had never truly had? It seems pointless to do so. And yet, here he is.

What does he want?

Gold can hears bells in the distance but they're faded and echoing in his mind like broken glass. He doesn't like the sound of it. He wants to see green instead and so he turns and stares into Emma's eyes intently. It's harder then it seems.

Emma is saying something to him.

It takes a second for him to catch on.

She's looking at him purposefully and asking him to trust her and he's considering it; only because it's her. His life in Emma's hands…seems reasonable enough.

The poison is clearly getting to him. It's breaking him down.

Emma wants him to trust her. He used to want the same thing from her. It didn't work out. And this is how their story goes. The moral is trust. The foundation is lies. Do they or don't they. They're never on the same page.

Yet, despite this, Gold knows Emma can protect him, and could save him. She already has—proven she's capable of it. Gold likes this quality about her. She's reliable.

But then she throws the word family at him and Gold finds himself instinctively flinching—a reflex, thankfully, hidden amongst his already shaken and crumbling body for her to notice it.

And then Emma is leaning in closer. Waiting for him to tell her something important, Gold assumes.

He's not quite there yet. Other thoughts have preoccupied him.

Like family and Emma's body. These are two things that conflict and don't suit their circumstances.

Emma is not his family. Her body was pressed against his, once. It doesn't belong anywhere else. Not under the label of daughter-in-law, despite what he tells her. He knows, she knows, he doesn't mean it. Gold just wants his son back and so he uses what he can to get her to do what he wants. Emma knows this too.

Family—it's a concept that has not really worked out for him. He thinks Emma may like it. And that's why it works against her. But he doesn't care for what it's done to her. Her family has ruined her in a way; made her as faulty and predictable as them. They make her think she's not as damaged as she is anymore.

They always had that in common between them—being irrecoverable flawed—and Gold doesn't want to lose that correlation he has with her.

Gold can't seem to stop thinking about certain things.

Like Emma sighing against his ear. Not now, of course, but back then. Her heated breath tickles his skin; back then it did and right now he's sure it does too. It seems Gold's mind is playing tricks on him. The past and present have begun to dance and swirl around him. The flow and colors are awkward yet spellbinding. And Gold wants to follow along. Fall in to the sweet embrace of her memory gliding against him.

He knows the right steps.

But Emma is actually, and just, staring at him. So Gold tries to stare back. He's contemplating about the wrong things. He needs to stop. But it seems strange to Gold to think there was a time when the animosity between them had chilled and allowed such a heated spark to erupt. And then Gold thinks, maybe, he doesn't like how it ended. And, maybe, he wants it back.

Magic could fix that. Magic could fix everything.

There's an idea.

Gold could make them all forget.

Use a spell and make them forget this connection that binds them. Sever the child, his grandson, from their minds. It was an ideal scenario. Gold could rid himself of the boy fated to undo him and take Emma for himself and, perhaps, down the line, he could even gain back his son.

It would simplify things so much—the thought of it was truly tempting. His mind, under the thrall of this poison, is being vivid and very persuasive.

Henry could even be replaced, in time, Gold tells himself.

Emma's body and family. It made more sense to him this way.

Alas, these sorts of schemes would have to wait. First things first, Gold needed to get back to Storybrooke. Gain his power back and not die in the process of doing so.

But Gold feels the abrupt and burning sensation of searing pain course through him; vicious and raw. And thinks he may be grasping on false hope. This vindictive poison of Hook's was working quickly. Gold knew he would not last much longer; a few hours at most.

He needs a distraction. To ease his mind away from the layers of tearing hurt clawing and spinning inside of him.

Gold quickly becomes aware of Emma's hand on his hand and of her fingers brushing against his face. It's confusing him. One is corporal, the other is an illusion. He's sure of that at least. But the reality between the two is blurring and becoming lost to him.

Which would he prefer?

Gold can't choose. So instead he tells Emma what she wants to hear. He whispers in her ear where to find his precious dagger.

Tick tock goes the clock.

She then moves away from him. Stands and makes a phone call. She's talking to her father and tells him where to find it. Gold instantly regrets telling her his secret. It was for Emma to have, not for them to take.

He knows this will not end well. The false prince and the runaway princess who she calls her parents are too good for their own good. Cora will find a way to best them, if she hasn't already.

Cora had been the ideal pupil, after all—perceptive, cunning, and eager in her ruthlessness—she knows what it takes to win. It's what he liked most about her. And the thing he thoroughly loathed about her. They'd had a bitter and complicated relationship. But he'd won in the end. That was what mattered.

Emma is standing a small distance from him. Yet, despite this, Gold swears he can feel her pressed firmly alongside the length of him. In his growing delirium he is succumbing to the temptation of his memories. Even in Gold's disintegrating mind Emma still moves against his body enticingly. Soothing and adoring him. Her warm lips are against his moist cheek. Her cool hands are running roughly through his damp hair. Gold begins to lose his grip with consciousness.

He thinks if this is his prelude to death—Emma his and comforting him—then perhaps it was not all that bad.

Gold could even welcome it.

There's a light tap against his face; not painful but its suddenness jars him and snaps him back to the present. His drowsy eyes become sharp and focused but he is quickly blinded by gold.

Emma, real and scented in spices, is hovering over him. Her green eyes shine with concern and her long hair is spilling around them carelessly. She's telling him something—explaining their plan, no doubt—but he can barely comprehend her words. He's weary and weak. Emma notices this and so slaps his face again gently. It helps. She leans in a little closer.

"Stay with me," she mutters softly. Then steps back and turns away.

Gold watches silently as Emma walks out the door with his son in tow and thinks, 'if only I could.'

It's a fitting end to another one of their moments.


End file.
